"I say, Boyd, have you got another one like—like this?" Clyde asked, nodding at Fraser, who snorted indignantly.
"Not exactly. Balt is quite the antithesis of Mr. Fraser. He is a fisherman, and he has never been East before."
"He's learning the manicure business," sniffed the adventurer. "He has his nails curried every day. Says it tickles."
"Oh, glory be!" ejaculated the clubman. "I must meet him, too. Let me show him the town, will you? I'll foot the bills; I'll make it something historic. Please do! I'm bored to death."
"We can't spare the time; we are here on business," said Emerson.
"Business!" Clyde remarked. "That sounds interesting. I haven't seen anybody for years who was really busy at anything that was worth being busy at. It must be a great sensation to really do something."
"Don't you do anything?"
"Oh yes; I'm as busy as a one-legged sword-dancer, but I don't do anything. It's the same old thing: leases to sign, rents to collect, and that sort of rot. My agent does most of it, however. I wish I were like you, Boyd; you always were a lucky chap." Emerson smiled rather grimly at thought of the earlier part of the evening and of his present fortune.
"Oh, I mean it!" said Clyde. "Look how lucky you were at the university. Everything came your way. Even M—" He checked himself and jerked his head in the direction of the North Side. "You know! She's never been able to see any of us fellows with a spy-glass since you left, and I have proposed regularly every full moon." He wagged his curly head solemnly and sighed. "Well, there is only one man I'd rather see get her than you, and that's me—or I—whichever is proper."
"I'm not sure it's proper for either of us to get her," smiled Boyd.